No Other Life than This Ch. 01

"Class of 84," mumbled Benny, certain that the guy didn't really give a shit, but wanting to establish that his question had been due to their both being sons of old Dartmouth, to quote the school song, rather than to a more personal interest.

"92," the man responded, his tone friendly enough, and Benny felt it would be rude to just turn back to his paper.

"You were on the crew team?"

"Yeah." The man grinned. "Hated every minute of it."

"And yet you still wear the shirt."

"Some days I need reminding that all things, no matter how unpleasant, shall eventually pass. This shirt does that," the man said grimly, though there was also a hint of amusement in his voice that showed that he wasn't taking himself too seriously.

"I always thought rowing on the Connecticut had to be fun. Certainly more fun than running alongside it, which is what I had to do."

"Oh, believe me, we ran alongside it plenty. Coach was a big believer in running."

"So why didn't you quit?"

The man shrugged. "I don't like dropping out of stuff. I figured it was only for four years."

Benny laughed. "Four years?"

"Hey, it wasn't like I was volunteering, except for the first time, but there weren't that many guys my size around. They kept on asking me back!"

Benny tried to think of another conversation topic, but couldn't come up with anything. His fellow alumnus didn't seem very interested in pursuing further discussion either, leaning his head back against the headrest and shutting his eyes.

Unobserved, Benny was free to study him. Benny remembered the rowers, had even slept with a couple of them, and this guy had the typical body of a heavyweight, hovering at around 6'6", long and leanly muscled, though he would have almost certainly been bigger, when on the team. Benny's gaze travelled appreciatively up the long, denim-clad thighs, the flat abdomen, the slight swell of pecs and biceps under the T-shirt, settling for a while on the curving mouth, then drifting on up, to meet amused hazel eyes. Benny successfully overcame his instinct to quickly look away, and remained staring, a simmering heat starting to uncoil in his belly.

"See something you like?" the man murmured huskily, and Benny suddenly felt like he'd been doused in ice water.

"I... No. Sorry, no," he answered hurriedly, and turned to gaze sightlessly out of the window, trying not to think of Phil and of how he'd answered that same question all those years ago. He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the sudden pressure.

By the time his stop was announced, his neck and shoulders were aching with tension. Although still resolutely staring out of the window, he was aware that the man was standing up and putting his jacket on, so he waited until the last possible moment to grab his own things and disembark. Despite his hope, the guy hadn't moved on, but was standing outside the station, obviously waiting for somebody. Benny hung further back, trying to remain inconspicuous, until he saw Roger's ancient BMW pull up. Roger clambered out and waved at him.

"Hey!"

With a sigh of relief, Benny headed towards the car and dumped his bag in the back seat.

"Hey, yourself. You're not looking as nervous as I expected you to."

"Shit, man, I'm sweating bullets," Roger groaned. "I really think this is it."

"It?"

"My last chance to get it right. No time for re-dos, even if I wanted to, which I don't, because Carrie's it. You know?"

"I know. Believe me, Roger, I know. So, are we going?"

"Hold on, we're also picking Carrie's brother up. That gigantic ginger-top must be him."

Roger trotted off, and Benny rested his arm on the roof of the car and hung his head, closing his eyes. Fuck. What a fucking mess.

"Benny, this is Matt, Carrie's brother. Matt, Benny, my best man."

"Ah, yes. For the third time now, isn't it?"

The hazel eyes that had seemed so warm and lively in the train were now flat and cold. Benny gaped at him, not sure if it was only him being insulted, or Roger, as well.

"You know what they say, third time lucky," Benny drawled, watching with satisfaction as Matt's face hardened further.

"Well, Carrie's expecting us, and the rest of the family and friends are going to start showing up pretty soon, so we'd better get going," Roger said a little too heartily, his normally fair skin puce with embarrassment. For a split second Benny regretted his knee-jerk response. Roger probably wouldn't appreciate Benny's rudeness towards his future brother-in-law, but hell, Matt had started it. Looking at the bright side, though, between them Matt and he must have quashed any further match-making attempts.

"I'll sit in the back," Matt almost growled, shoving Benny's stuff further along the seat, dumping his own on top of it, and folding himself awkwardly into the small space, not even waiting for Benny to slide the front seat forward in order to create a little more room for him. And although Benny would have normally done so without being asked, he didn't. Instead he fastened his seatbelt and ostentatiously stretched his own legs as far as they'd go.

"Well, I can't say that went very well," Roger remarked mildly after a silent and seething ride home, as they stood by the car watching Matt stalk up the path to the front entrance, where his sister was waiting for him.

"You think?" Benny snarled and Roger flinched.

*******************

To everybody's credit, they managed to act more or less like adults for the rest of the day, even when Benny realized that he and Matt were going to be sharing the same guest room. By the time Benny managed to corner an evasive and increasingly skittish Roger alone outside by the barbecue, he didn't have enough energy left for anything but the most minor of temper tantrums.

"Jesus, Roger!" he exploded.

"Calm down, will you? This is how you got your ulcer."

"Last time you said not expressing my feelings was how I got my ulcer. So now you're going to stay here and listen to me fucking express them. In the same fucking room? What were you thinking?"

"Well, what do you want? We've only got one guest room; this isn't the White House."

"Can't he stay at a hotel?"

"Benny, he's Carrie's brother. What's the matter with you?"

"The matter with me is that even if he wasn't an asshole, you guys were setting us up, and you don't put people you're trying to set up in the same room. It's just a little too heavy-handed." Benny was having trouble keeping his voice down to a low roar.

"In the first place, he's not an asshole."

"Roger, the first thing he did on meeting you was insult you," Benny pointed out, conveniently omitting the fact that he might also have been a target.

"Well, he was right. It is my third marriage and that's not a very good track record. He loves Carrie, and he's concerned," Roger answered reasonably. "As for putting you in the same room, since both you and he were adamant that you weren't interested in meeting one another, we didn't think it would be a problem. If either of you had expressed the minutest interest, we wouldn't have done so. Unless the other had expressed interest, as well. But neither did."

Benny didn't even try to follow that reasoning. "Well, can I stay at a hotel?"

Roger sighed. "Benny, please. I've already had a full day, and it's not even five o'clock yet. We still have dinner to go, and it's going to be an even fuller day tomorrow. I can't be driving you back and forth. Besides, I need you here. Really, what fucking difference does it make where you guys are sleeping? It's not like we put you in the same bed or anything."

Benny pressed his lips together. The rational answer was, of course, that it made no difference whatsoever, even though for some reason he couldn't quite get himself to see it that way. One thing was for sure, there wasn't any point in discussing it further with an obviously frazzled Roger. He'd simply watch TV in the den until everybody went to bed, then sleep on the couch down there.

"You're right." He tried to loosen his jaw enough so that he could smile at Roger, and he slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Sorry, Roger."

Roger hesitated. "Benny, are you okay? Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine." Benny impulsively hugged his old friend and kissed him on the cheek, and Roger squirmed a little and laughed, before walking back into the house. Benny stayed outside and drew in a deep breath of cool, crisp air.

"For the record, I was trying to insult you, not Roger."

Benny turned around and to see Matt leaning against the small garden shed. "What are you doing lurking over there?"

Matt held up a pack of cigarettes in answer. Benny opened his mouth and quickly shut it again, but Matt saw him. "What, are you going to tell me that I should give up the demon weed?"

"I might if I cared enough."

"Not a humanitarian, huh?"

Benny snorted.

"Can I just say something here?" Matt asked, and Benny shrugged. "The truth is, I was pissed off, and I took it out on you."

If there was an actual apology attached to that confession, Benny didn't hear it. On the other hand, he'd never been much of a stickler for details.

"Why were you pissed off?"

"At having to meet you. Carrie kept on going on and on about you, nice guy, not like the losers I always go out with, yack yack yack. I didn't know you didn't want to be set up either."

Benny was oddly touched by the fact that Carrie didn't think he was a loser.

"You generally go out with losers?"

"Well, obviously I don't think so. Besides which, you sound like a pretty big loser yourself."

"Why, thank you. Because you know me so well." By rights, Benny should not have been almost enjoying the sparring with Matt.

"A best man three times? For the same guy? You don't also happen to have 27 tuxes stored in a closet in your entryway, do you?"

Benny sighed in defeat. "I know. I tried to refuse, but Roger doesn't take no for an answer. He didn't the first two times either."

Matt flicked his Zippo open and shut. "There you go. Actions speak louder than words. He probably won't listen to you the fourth time around, either, now that you've conclusively proven that even though you say no, you don't really mean it."

"I've known Roger since we were both in diapers and I've never seen him like this before. I don't think there's going to be a fourth time." Benny was only sharing this fact because he liked Carrie; if she'd confessed some doubts to Matt about the permanence of Roger's feelings for her, Matt could now offer some reassurance. It wasn't like Benny gave a shit about whether Matt himself was worried.

"Carrie didn't tell me you'd gone to Dartmouth," Matt continued on a completely different vein.

Benny shrugged. "I'm not sure she knows. I don't think it's ever come up."

"I'd have put two and two together, otherwise. I mean, how many gay Dartmouth alums your age would have been heading out to White Plains on this particular Saturday morning?"

Benny frowned at him, not sure why Matt was bringing their initial meeting up.

"Why did you freeze me out? You were obviously interested."

"What do you care? I thought you didn't want to meet me," Benny said, but even to his own ears his voice sounded weird, a little breathless. Too late he realized that he hadn't denied being interested.

"Oh, come on, Ben, don't even try that. I wasn't interested in meeting the faceless loser three-times-best-man, not any more than you were interested in meeting Carrie's little brother. I most certainly was interested in the good-looking guy sitting across from me and ogling me."

Benny shook his head and looked back toward the house. "We should go back inside."

"I was talking to Carrie just now, and she said you've been pretty sick. And that your partner was killed a few years ago."

"Well, then, Carrie told you all the pertinent sad little facts, didn't she?" Benny asked angrily. "You must be quite the humanitarian yourself, if she thought that's what it would take to pique your interest."

Benny turned around and went back into the house. He didn't expect people to fall over themselves to spend time with him because of his charming personality, but he didn't like wondering if the only reason Matt had tried mending the fences between them was because he felt sorry for him. He ignored Roger's father, who was calling to him, and climbed the stairs up to guest room, where he flopped onto one of the beds on his back, covering his eyes with his forearm.

"I'm nobody's pity case," he whispered to Phil, even though he never spoke to Phil outside of their bedroom, his voice thick and shaky, and the facts that he knew he was overreacting and that he unaccountably felt like crying only made him angrier.